Kimono
by Llyn
Summary: Ken wears a kimono. Daisuke loses his mind. Yaoi. Daiken. Lime.


**Disclaimer:** Digimon is not my property, and this work is not for profit. Yaoi. Daiken. Lime.

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 **Kimono**

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Somehow, Ken gets a hold of a black silk kimono, embroidered with smug white dragons. Worse, he wears it loose around the flat. The kimono makes him look like a Floating World wet dream, and Daisuke—who's already prone to devastation—spends every day _devastated_.

He wants to find the sadistic bastard who would sell Ken such a flimsy thing and shout, "Don't you know what he's doing to me?" right in his lecherous (everyone who interacts with Ken is, in Daisuke's mind, criminally lecherous) face. Instead, he slouches on top of the kitchen counter on Saturday morning, bloodshot eyes hungrily tracking Ken's every elegant movement as he makes them tea. The smell of jasmine fills the air. Outside, rain patters gently.

"For you," Ken says, handing him a cup. When Daisuke can only babble _Than-uh_ in response, past the drool pooling in his mouth, Ken lowers his eyes, his eyelashes a pair of heavy black fans, and laughs at him.

Daisuke is devastated. He might as well have a cigar in his mouth, a shady business deal on the table, and a wife and kids back home to balance the weight of this decadence. Living with Ken has always been difficult from a don't-jump-your-best-friend standpoint but only recently has his best friend started dressing like an Edo courtesan. He shivers as Ken leans against the counter beside him, silk brushing his knee. Daisuke isn't built to resist such temptations—he's just a mere mortal of twenty-three short but eventful years who wears ratty t-shirts and rattier shorts around the flat on rainy weekends. Not that Daisuke handles it much better when Ken wears ratty shorts and t-shirts, but that's not the point.

"You're quiet," Ken says, looking up at him with those eyes of his.

Daisuke clenches his hands on his mug and says, "Am not."

"Alright," Ken smiles—he's always so sweet—and says, "What do you want to do today?"

Daisuke knows exactly what he wants to do and just how he'd do it and can imagine the perfect sounds Ken would make while it was being done to him but instead he says, "Get drunk." Because if Ken wants to play geisha and generally test Daisuke's precarious self-control then Daisuke at least wants to watch him pour sake in that outfit.

Ken's smile widens—he's always so sweet—and says, "Okay."

He doesn't even mention the fact that it's ten a.m, just pulls the sake down from the top of the fridge and takes two glasses from the cabinet, drifting into the living room smooth as a petal in a clear-running stream.

Daisuke tumbles down from the counter, coordination shot, then tosses back his tea, too fast. He calls into the living room past the burn in his throat, "Where'd you get that kimono?"

"Yamato," Ken says, "He wore it in one of his music videos. Thought I'd like it."

Daisuke cannot handle several aspects of this explanation, and opens the freezer door to stick his face inside, near the ice. First off, what's Yamato wearing slinky silken things in a video for, and when and where can Daisuke watch it, alone? Second, why is Yamato thinking of Ken and what Ken would like and giving him sexy black shiny things to wear when he _knows_ Daisuke has to live with him every day of the week. Weekends, too.

"Dai?" Ken calls.

"One sec," Daisuke answers, pulling his head out of the freezer and feeling somewhat more stable, or at the very least, extremely cold.

Ken's arranged himself prettily on the floor, but when Daisuke walks in he's worrying his bottom lip. That is, until his violet eyes light on him, and he raises up gracefully to pour Daisuke a shot. Daisuke takes a seat beside him and reciprocates, then they toast and start down the well-worn path to day-drunk together.

After two shots, their cat, Sugar, comes padding in to join them. She bats away Daisuke's attempt to scratch behind her ear, choosing instead to rub enthusiastically against Ken. Which, hey, Daisuke can sympathize. She pokes her face curiously inside one of Ken's overlarge sleeves before settling at his side. When Ken looks down at her, stroking under her chin to set her off purring, his glossy hair spills forward to expose the white nape of his neck. It's obscene. Daisuke cures his suddenly dry mouth with a shot that he pours for himself with shaky hands.

"Are you playing geisha?" Daisuke asks, after, then shuts his mouth, horrified.

Ken doesn't react at first, drawing out Daisuke's misery. His hand is frozen mid-pet. But when his dark eyes do cut to Daisuke, they sparkle, mischievous, "Do you want me to?"

Daisuke's mouth works, but no sound comes out.

"Could be fun," Ken says. He moves beside Daisuke to refill his sake, leaning so close Daisuke can feel the heat of him past all that cool silk. He pours, skinny little wrist pleasantly revealed with its blue veins and white skin. Then, as he hands Daisuke his glass, fingers brushing fingers far more than necessary, Ken flashes him the coyest glance Daisuke's ever seen. It's a look, all secretive violet and black lashes, that says everything Daisuke wants to hear. Playing geisha or not, Daisuke sets his drink right back down where it came from and grabs Ken around his slender waist, pulling him onto his lap.

Ken's gasp becomes a soft _Ah!_ as Daisuke pulls his hair back to suck beneath his ear. He's got his other hand tight around Ken's waist, but Ken doesn't struggle so much as arch back into the touch of his lips. "You've got the wrong idea of geisha," he scolds, breathless, but twists in Daisuke's lap enough to meet his lips, one hand coming up to tangle in Daisuke's hair.

"Yeah, but I figured you out," Daisuke says, hand working loose the simple knot of the kimono. Ken's skin is like fire and he lolls boneless in Daisuke's arms, breathing hard, "You're a fucking tease," Daisuke whispers into the shell of his ear.

Ken laughs. Daisuke topples him to the floor, pinning him down with his own body as he steals kiss after kiss. Ken runs his hands over Daisuke's shoulders, then chest, then tugs the hem of Daisuke's shirt, demanding, "Off."

Daisuke's shirt comes off so fast it's like it never existed. The slippery sensation of all that silk against his bare skin has him goosebumped and rock hard. Ken wraps one hand around his bicep and the other slides down every bump of his spine as they kiss.

He wants to mark Ken's delicate skin, so he starts on his neck, fingers toying his nipples into hardness, then he drops lower to tease the pink nubs with his tongue and torture them with his teeth. Ken's legs fall open as he arches up against Daisuke's touch and Daisuke feels drunker than the three shots he's taken. Ken's hands tangle in his hair as Daisuke licks and nibbles down his stomach toward his dick, taking it in his mouth and sucking greedily as Ken whines. Daisuke comes up for air to find Ken's half-out of his kimono, shoulder bared and hair an inky, tangled mess.

Ken takes the fingers Daisuke offers into his mouth, wetting them. "You've been driving me fucking crazy," Daisuke tells him.

He pulls his fingers from Ken's mouth with a pop, and Ken smiles at him wickedly.

"I know," he says.

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 **A/N:** Please favorite/comment if you liked it! I love comments!


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